Isn't it Fun?
by Tressa
Summary: Nanjiroh's view of the last half of Ryoma's match with Yukimura. Spoilers for the last episode of the OVA's.


Title: Isn't it Fun?

Author: Tressa

Rating: K

Summary: Nanjiroh's perspective on the last half of Ryoma's match with Yukimura.

_Based off the anime ending. Nanjiroh may be a bit OOC._

As Echizen Nanjiroh watched the match from the stands, he couldn't help but frown as he watched his son stumble about blindly. That Yukimura kid was really something. Being able to steal the senses from his opponent like that. Made it virtually impossible for anyone to play when they couldn't see, feel, or hear.

He cracked a small smile before returning to his previous frown. He'd like to play the kid sometime. He had a distinct feeling he knew what his game was.

Now, however, was not the time to be thinking such things. His son was still stumbling about on the court. Still, it was a miracle that he even remembered that he could play tennis. A few hours before, Ryoma had been completely unaware of his talent and had proceeded to scare everyone by that severe case of memory loss. Thankfully, he had recovered, and the cute, confused, and hesitant boy had disappeared and his cute, yet snarky son was back.

A lot of good it was doing him now.

A shudder ran through his body and he fought the urge to rush down to the courts when he saw his boy go down. His opponent, not backing down, had launched a serve that for all purposes should've been easy to return. Instead, it hit the court and hit Ryoma, who promptly hit the ground.

All around him, he heard the murmurs. Many wondering if this really was the ace rookie of Seigaku who had beaten some guy called the Emperor. Waiting impatiently, he watched Ryoma stand up and proceed to try and serve, missing the ball by a mile. The second time wasn't any better and his son ended up tripping over the ball and falling face first.

"Come on, Ryoma," he said softly in English. "You're too stubborn to let this beat you."

The cries of his son's teammates to stop, it's enough, were echoed through out the stadium. Maybe it was a good thing Ryoma couldn't hear it. As much as Nanjiroh as a father wanted to tell his son it was alright, he could quit, he knew he couldn't. And wouldn't. Because it was that same part of him that was Ryoma's father that knew that this was only an obstacle. He could get through this. He needed to get through this.

Not for the match. Not for the win. Not even for his team. If Ryoma wanted to evolve and advance, he needed to get past this. He needed to remember. Otherwise, he'd never reach his full potential.

So, he stayed put, and watched to see how it would pull through.

Earlier, he recalled, he could see the intense concentration on Ryoma's face. Forehead furrowed, eyes narrowed, stance tense. Similar to that of when he was playing him. The boy wanted badly to win. He wanted to win for himself and for his teammates. The National Championships rested on his small shoulders.

When was the last time his son had played just to play? Despite the many titles and championships Nanjiroh had won, he played tennis to have fun. He enjoyed tennis. When the opponents ceased to be fun, tennis ceased to be fun. It wasn't all about winning. Winning came when one had fun. And he tried various times to drill that into his idiot son's head. But Ryoma, stubborn as always, didn't full comprehend what he was telling him. Ryoma hadn't played for fun since he was young.

"Oi, Ryoma," he said. "Is tennis fun?"

A gasp from the crowd drew his attention back to the court where he could see his boy rising back to his feet. Briefly, he wondered if he was still suffering. But upon closer look, he could see. Something was different. It was as if a different aura surrounded Ryoma. And this time, it wasn't an aura of desperation.

Slowly, Nanjiroh could feel his lips turn upward. Finally. After all these years, his son finally remembered. Scratching his stomach, he began to make his way down the steps to where the team was sitting. Old lady Ryuzaki appeared a bit calmer as he approached. Perhaps she noticed as well. As he neared, he could whispers of a state of being that few were able to achieve.

Ten'i Muho No Kiwami. The Pinnacle of Perfection.

The play resumed. Listening in, he could hear the young players talk about what Ten'i Muho No Kiwami could possibly be. It would be difficult, they surmised, to distinguish.

He watched Ryoma a bit more. Watched him play. Watched him smile. Watched him have fun and really enjoy tennis.

The match ended, 6-4 in favor of Ryoma. Despite the old lady telling him Ryoma has reached his level, he knew his son still had a long way to go. The surge of players that rushed the court jolted him from his thoughts and he watched as they picked up his son, tossing him in the air in appreciation for his win. At first, the confusion and slight fear on his face was amusing and Nanjiroh found himself chuckling at his son's expense. However, what happened next blew him away.

Ryoma smiled. A real smile. No smirks, no half hearted attempts. It was a real smile . . . and was that a giggle at the end? The loud "Yatta!" that followed confirmed the reality of the situation. When was the last time his son had really smiled? Thinking back, it must have been around the same time he was actually playing to have fun. When he was little.

How his mother would've loved to see that.

Although never stated, there was some slight hesitation on his part to move the family to Japan. Not enough to actually reconsider what he was doing, because nothing was going to really stop him short of Rinko begging to not move. But he wondered how his American born and raised son would adapt to the differences in society. And if perhaps it would impede on the real reason they were going.

Seeing him smile, seeing him have fun, seeing him reach the level of a worthy rival made it all worth it.

Chuckling, he bid a farewell to Ryuzaki, who only turned and gave him a look and a smile that plainly said, "I told you so". Whistling a happy tune, he exited the stadium. He needed to get home and make the necessary arrangements.

After all, the pro-circuit awaited.


End file.
